


Mauve

by tikistitch



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, Popsicles, Science, death rays, little blobbity things, lots of synonyms for purple, really who knew there were so many, the blood space wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 17:51:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4358573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tikistitch/pseuds/tikistitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While the Blood Space Wars rage, the citizens of Night Vale prepare a surprise party for a special friend.  But their schemes may have devastating consequences for a certain scientist's perfect hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mauve

**Author's Note:**

> I was so happy that Cecil and his beloved Carlos were back together that I wrote a story....

Cecil raised his head and blinked a pair of bleary, light rose-colored eyes at the tide of small, gelatinous bodies now roiling towards him. They glowed slightly in the warm darkness, wiggling as they surged forward across his down comforter. What was their purpose? Did they have a purpose? Did _anything_ have a purpose, here in this dark universe?

He swiveled his head and called forth the Voice of Night Vale. “Carlos?” It wasn't terribly smooth at this hour of the morning, but it would do.

The scientist, wearing safety goggles (as safety was priority number one!) and a pajama lab coat, sat beside Cecil on the bed, propped up by many fluffy pillows stacked against the headboard. He was staring at the bubbling liquid in a beaker he held in a pair of tongs, the flickers reflecting in his goggles. “Yes, my sweet Cecil?” he inquired in those slightly distracted tones of a researcher intent on discovery.

Cecil heaved a sigh. “What have we said about doing science in bed?”

Using the back of his wrist, Carlos raised the safety goggles. Two wide, pale green eyes stared at Cecil, and the radio host instantly felt guilty at being cross. “Oh! I'm so sorry, darling! It was a late day for science, and I was just catching up on a few things.”

“Now, dear,” said Cecil, batting away one of the little jelly monsters, which resulted in getting a film of sticky, purple residue in one hand. “I realize space is tight while you wait for your new laboratory to be built, but I think we need to establish a few ground rules.”

The handsome brow creased in agitation. “I'm so sorry, sweetie. Did I disturb you from pretending to sleep?”

Cecil patted Carlos's fine-skinned hand. “That's all right.”

Carlos was already slipping out of bed. He looked cosy, wearing his fluffy flannel pajama lab coat. Cecil wondered if the improbably handsome scientist was wearing anything underneath? “I'll take this all to the kitchen. You go back to contemplating the void!”

“Thank you, my dear Carlos,” said Cecil as Carlos hastened out the door, followed by a retinue of the little purple blobbies. It was so lovely having his dear scientist back from the desert wasteland, but it had necessitated some adjustments to Cecil's lifestyle. His head drifted back down towards the pillow, where, after feigning sleep for a moment, he drifted into actual slumber. In his dreams he met not one but a pair of government agents, both set on recording his dreams, but both, as it happened, sent from different secretive government agencies. They began to quarrel about who had precedence to record Cecil's dream, and, while he watched and chomped on a bowl of microwave popcorn, they began to engage in a rather amusing slap fight.

Cecil awoke, refreshed, still smelling popcorn. Carlos still hadn't come back to bed, and Cecil's mind still tickled with curiosity regarding the presence or absence of pajamas beneath his boyfriend's fetching lab coat. He decided that an investigation was called for. For science!

Hitching up his leather pants, and slipping into fuzzy slippers, he climbed out of bed and made for the kitchen, where already the sounds of bubbling beakers and whirring particle accelerators announced the presence of a certain rather hunky scientist. “Carl-” Cecil exclaimed. But, alas, barely a honey-coated syllable had escaped his radio announcer's throat when, abruptly, he barked his shin on a rather large, wooden crate that had been placed in his hallway.

“Scientific equipment – EXTREME DANGER,” was stenciled on the side of the crate, along with the cartoon symbols for radioactivity, biohazard and strong perfume. Of course, more of Carlos's little odds and ends that he'd moved here from the desert wasteland.

“Cecil, is that you, dear?” came Carlos's oaky tones from the kitchen. “Are you all right?”

“Fine, just fine, my foxfire blossom,” muttered Cecil as he rubbed the spot on his leg he was certain would erupt into a large, fulsome bruise before long. He hobbled around the corner, and then halted, sharply taking in a breath at the horror within.

His kitchen, which he had finished in a rather fetching shade of lilac, had turned completly … _mauve!_

“Good morning, Cecil!” said Carlos brightly, offering up a mug. One of the little purple jelly-things had apparently scaled his lab coat and now perched on his shoulder, wiggling as Carlos talked. “I brewed up some of your favorite coffee, the kind that rarely produces bloodworms!”

“Dear,” stated Cecil, who grabbed the mug and took a good gulp of delicious caffeine-enhanced beverage. “Dear,” he began again, “my kitchen?”

“Oh, yes,” said Carlos, pushing up his safety goggles to reveal eyes the color of a new-mown lawn on a summer day. “Josie is arranging a special surprise for Hiram McDaniels' purple head.”

“Violet,” supplied Cecil.

“Yes, Violet is feeling lonely, as Hiram McDaniels' other four heads aren't currently on speaking terms with him, so we were going to give him some purple-themed presents. I was going to give him purple science! As that is the best form of science.”

“Yes,” slurped Cecil. He gestured with the mug. “But … my kitchen.”

Carlos swept his arm around the room. “Yes, that was a sort of … side effect. It's almost definitely temporary. I mean, unless it isn't! Something must be one thing or the other, unless of course it's in an indeterminate state. At least, this is what science tells us.”

“Good for science,” said Cecil, moping a bit over his décor. Musing over his coffee, he took note of Carlos's bedtime apparel, which became visible as the scientist was gesturing. Sadly, he was indeed wearing pajamas, although this consisted of some low-slung sweat pants and one of Cecil's Night Vale Community Radio T-shirts, which fit a bit tightly on the scientist's superbly well-muscled torso. In consequence, a rather fetching expanse of dark, well-toned tummy was on display. 

Setting down his coffee mug, Cecil placed one pale hand on the dark, delicate skin of his boyfriend's midsection, and went up on tiptoe to deliver a kiss. Carlos's lips were in fact located at precisely the correct altitude for this, a rather fetching aspect of his perfection. 

“You don't mind?” whispered Carlos. “The science?”

“I don't mind,” Cecil insisted.

The already spectacular eyes crinkled into precisely crenelated laugh lines. “You are the world's most perfect boyfriend.”

“I'm late,” Cecil confessed, his cheeks hot from the scientific praise.

Carlos shrugged in sympathy. “Time is weird in Night Vale.”

“Yes, indeed, but I'm afraid management won't take this as an excuse. The weather is going to be humid, so make sure to dress appropriately! Oh, and I hear there's been a collision of intersecting alternative dimensions, which has caused us to run into the Blood Space Wars timeline again. There are apparently alien invaders flying over, set on destruction, that kind of thing.” Cecil waved a dismissive hand: another week in Night Vale.

“Oh,” said Carlos, his eyes brightening with technological possibility. “Sounds like a good time to get my death ray online!”

“Yes, that sounds right. I need to get rolling, sweetie!” And, rubbing his shin, Cecil made for the bathroom.

 

After a refreshing shower, Cecil dressed appropriately for the humid weather – a silky caftan and suede culottes, accessorized by a coral belt (made of real coral) and, with a quick kiss for his one true love, hastened out the door, the jelly creatures oozing in his wake. He was not in a good mood, but consoled him self with the thought that into every relationship, some blobby purple gelatinous creatures must fall. 

It was oddly quiet in the town: where usually the various surveillance helicopters circled overhead, now the sky was darkened by the fleet of alien spaceships hovering in silent waiting. As Cecil strode across town towards the radio station, one ship looming over downtown broke formation, tilted on its quasi-reptilian axis, and fired some kind of high tech laser weapon towards the street. An explosion rocked the town, as citizens screamed, car alarms bleated, and somewhere, the Night Vale Community College marching band banged out the “Game of Thrones” theme on a field-full of zithers.

“They're attacking?” Cecil wailed, consulting the wristwatch Carlos had gifted him. “That's a full day early! This will completely mess up the community calendar!” Fuming and itching from the stuffy heat, he marched towards the radio station, vowing that, despite the chaos in his home and his city, he would continue to act like a true-born radio professional. He arrived at the station, spotting Intern Thallium out of the corner of his eye (Intern Thallium was shy, and like to hide inside the walls to avoid human contact). “We need to revise the Community Calendar!” he announced to Intern Thallium, hoping announcing the bad news at the beginning would get it out of the way. “And get building management turn up the air conditioning, it's humid today.”

He strode down the darkened hallway, shellac-soled go-go boots clacking on the parquet floors, past the row of long-abandoned recording studios that, miraculously, still produced nightly shows, and into his office, where he discovered when he reached for his packet of gum that one of the little gelatinous blobs produced from Carlos's purple science endeavors had lodged in his caftan's chest pocket. He plucked it out and held it on its palm, and it stared at him for a time with luminous eyes. Then it crawled off and hopped into the air. Its bell billowed out like a tiny purple parachute, and it drifted slowly down to the floor. 

“Are you ready for our broadcast?” Cecil inquired of his stowaway. From the floor, the tiny blob waved its little head fins, and it slithered after Cecil as he walked to his booth.

 

_“It's pool time at Ralphs! Come and buy a pool! Or bring a pool to sell or trade! Engage in capitalism. Drown your dreams, and contemplate eternity. Pools are a perfect way to escape the summer humidity, as well as a way to reflect on the loss of your younger self.”_

Cecil glanced at the newswire passed to him on a golden plate by Intern Thallium. Evidently the Blood Space Wars had intensified in Old Town, causing many millions of dollars in damage and massive casualties. He contemplated a photo of the alien overlords sacking the town, noticing that several of the citizens were uncomfortable from the unseasonable humidity. 

The lights dipped, and then brightened. Cecil looked up, thinking his community might be experiencing a brown-out of some kind. But before he could investigate, with the whisper of wings, Cecil was joined in his booth by Old Woman Josie and two of the Erikas. The little purple jelly-thing scurried up to greet a silvery Erika. The Erika picked it up one one long, bony finger and contemplated the jelly-thing undulating its little head fins.

“Cecil, we're havin' a purple-themed celebration for Hiram McDaniels's purple head. You're gonna be there, right?”

“Yes, Carlos has been engaged in purple science for the past day in preparation,” Cecil related, remembering with some displeasure the disaster with his kitchen décor.

“We don't wanna disappoint Violet!” Josie persisted. “Show 'em what you can do, Erika!”

The Erika that she had addressed (Cecil reflected that it must be inconvenient sometimes, having the winged beings who were definitely NOT angels being addressed by the same proper name) paused in contemplation of the little purple jelly-thing and began a sort of humming that was part basso profundo and partly outside the range of normal hearing. Several glass items in Cecil's studio shattered, and Erika unfolded a pair of magnificent wings in a variety of shades from ultraviolet to lavender.

Erika was holding up a small, lavender doily, which Josie plucked from him or her. “See? Erika here crocheted a doily!”

“Well, isn't that clever?” said Cecil. Erika fluffed up its wings in a satisfied manner, which managed to get mauve-hued feathers floating down inside Cecil's broadcast booth. 

“Don't be late,” Josie chided. 

“I won't.”

Josie fixed him with a rheumy eye. “Now, I know your mind, Cecil Palmer, you're likely to get bogged down by the Blood Space Wars!”

“Oh, that will be no problem. My boyfriend has a death ray,” Cecil preened.

“Does he now? Well, hoop dee doo!”

Cecil smirked. The best thing about Carlos being the world's awesome-est boyfriend was of course bragging incessantly about the same. “Erika,” he urged, “please put that down. No! Don't put it in your mouth!”

The celestial being who was most definitely not an angel glared at Cecil with jeweled eyes and poked out a jeweled tongue from one of several mouths, where the little jellied blob huddled. Cecil, not one to easily concede at stare-offs, glared back and retrieved his gelatinous friend. There was the sound of wing beats, as from a large raptor, and Josie and her friends were gone, leaving only a spray of feathers and a little purple doily.

“Well, that was unpleasant.” Once again, the station's flourescent lights dimmed, and then brightened, and Cecil found he was once again not alone.

“What is it, Intern Blue?” inquired Cecil as an intern with hair dyed a vibrant shade presented him with a single delicate pastry on an elaborate blown glass cake plate, which was the standard manner of communication from the mayor's Office of Emergency Press Conferences.

“Another emergency press conference?” Cecil inquired, brushing powdered sugar from his caftan. He tossed a crumb of the pastry to the little purple blobby thing, which swiftly ingested it, and then produced a rather loud, rather purple belch.

“Yes,” said Intern Blue. “Pamela Winchell is holding an emergency press conference on the topic of emergency press conferences. She was concerned about the state of emergency press conferences, given the Blood Space Wars.”

“What happened?”

“Well, due to a warp in the space-time continuum, she ended up meeting herself, conducting another emergency press conference.”

Cecil snorted. “I could have warned her about that! The topic was far too meta.”

“The last we saw, the two Pamela Winchells were thumb wrestling each other for dominance.”

“As could be expected. Ah!” Cecil held up his phone. “I just got a text from my boyfriend. He's a very important scientist, you know.”

Intern Blue rolled her eyes. Evidently, she had heard.

“Go and find Intern Thallium, I think he's hiding in the wall again. I need to go meet Carlos!”

 

The bell tinkled as Cecil opened the door of the Moonlite All Nite Diner. He scanned the booths for Carlos, and nearly dropped his teeth at the horror that confronted him.

Carlos's hair - his beautiful, perfect dark hair – was now a lurid shade of purple!

“Cecil, this is very- Wha' 'r ya doin'?” Carlos slurred, as Cecil grabbed Carlos's lantern jaw and pulled open his mouth.

“Your teeth – they're still white at least,” said Cecil, satisfied that his partner's dentition was still up to the standards of a military cemetery. “My dear, what has happened?”

“Oh,” said Carlos, puffing out his cheeks, blowing a puff of air up where it fluffed his purple bangs. “It's a side effect of the Purple Science, which is of course, the most unpredictable kind. Cecil, this is very important-”

“Of course it's important!” Cecil demanded. “Will it grow back? Oh, your perfect, dark hair!”

Carlos paused to ponder this. “It will. Unless it won't. That is one of the certainties of science: uncertainty!”

“But what is the likelihood?” wailed Cecil, who was really in no mood for such metaphysical ponderings when it came to matters of Carlos's resplendent coif. “This is important! Important for every citizen of Night Vale!”

“Yes, Night Vale!” said Carlos, his ridiculously handsome brow now creased in worry (which, we should note here, only ended up making him even more handsome). “Cecil, you need to make an announcement, to all of Night Vale. My death ray is ineffective. We keep blowing the circuits. I need everyone to turn off their unneeded electrical and electronic equipment – blow dryers, dishwashers, oreries, electronic bloodstone circles-” He held out a hand, counting out the egregious uses of power on one slim, dark-fingered hand.

“But not air conditioners, certainly,” added Cecil. “It's quite humid. Did you listen to the weather?”

“Yes, especially air conditioners!” Carlos countered, agitated enough now that his purple curls puffed up in agitation.

“Carlos do you realize what you're asking? Do you even comprehend? People might get ... itchy!”

“Cecil! Warn the town! I must use my death ray.”

“I am ever so glad you have a hobby, Carlos, but-”

“Cecil? Are you listening to me? We must save the town! We must save Night Vale!”

Cecil started to respond, but held his tongue. It was one of those things he had learned about relationships: sometimes, you just needed to pick your battles. If saving the town from the Blood Space Wars was more important to Carlos than his glorious hair, well, then.... 

The little purple blobby thing had crawled out to the middle of the table, where it was jiggling uncertainly. Cecil reached out and scratched its head tentacles. “All right, my sweet Carlos. I will alert the town. And you-” He paused, shooting a glance at his purple-tressed boyfriend. “Well, you'll see about your hair?” The mellow voice pitched up with existential despair, almost cracking.

Carlos covered Cecil's pale hand with his own. “Of course.” But then of course he added, “As soon as we defeat these aliens!”

Wincing, Cecil attempted a brave smile, though he noted with dismay that Carlos's eyelashes were now purple as well. Purple science! Curse the day!

 

Cecil headed back to the station, his little gelatinous friend now balanced skillfully on his shoulder, the afternoon's broadcast on his mind. Soon it would be time for traffic, and the latest threats of ultimate doom from the Brownstone Spire. He passed the downtown area, which had been reduced to a smoking crater. The smell of fire and death permeated Night Vale's desert air. He noticed that it was still quite humid, and his caftan clung to him. Space lasers sounded in the distance, and hundreds of citizens screamed in terror.

Cecil reached the station just ahead of a tractor-trailer screeching out of control after a laser blast from the alien ship. As it exploded in the parking lot, he nodded to intern Prussianbloo, who unfortunately had run an errand to Radon Canyon and was now radiating a rather lurid shade of indigo/violet.

Cecil donned his headphones, and contemplated the text message Carlos had typed out for him, which related the Blood Space danger in a series of charming emoji icons. 

“As you all know,” Cecil intoned, the microphone translating the vibrating molecules to energy and casting them into the void, “my boyfriend is an important scientist, and he wante me-”

Cecil paused. The little jelly thing was oozing across his mixing board, and it paused, pointing its head tentacles at him.

“I realize I am privileged to have this soapbox on community radio, and as such, I do not like to use my position for any kind of personal gain. But I have to ask, if one is in a relationship that involves a party who has rather spectacular and shiny dark hair, is it appropriate to be disappointed when it all goes wrong in the name of science? Not that I am complaining! But aren't lovely, luxuriant locks one of the gifts of the universe, one of the elements that keep us from despairing in the dark? So brief a time we have, citizens of Night Vale, a glint of light in the infinite void, in which to contemplate the glorious sight of our partner, having just awoken from slumber, shaking out dark tresses that tangle expansively into unusual light green eyes, setting off a perfect jawline, lined with dark stubble. Night Vale, is that too much to ask of an uncaring and cold universe?”

Cecil's pale eyebrow shot up as his cellular phone blipped. He urged the little jelly thing off of the screen and was surprised to see a text message from Carlos.

“AIR CONDITIONERS CEEC,” it said. And there was a tiny emoji of a kitten.

_“R U LISTENING CARLOS”_

“YES OF COURSE AIR CONDITIONERS CECIL NOW”

_“LUV U” ___

__“YES LUV U TOO”_ _

___“LUV U THREE”_ _ _

__“CECIL PLEASE”_ _

__“Night Vale,” Cecil murmured into the microphone, his voice as balmy as a fragrant massage oil. “I have been asked that you turn off all unnecessary electrical equipment. Including-”_ _

__The phone buzzed. “AIR CONDITIONERS.”_ _

__Cecil sighed. “Including air conditioners. It's needed for the Blood Space Wars. Aliens, you know. Anyway, now, traffic!” Cecil rummaged around for a pre-recorded tape just as the lights suddenly dimmed once again. There was a humming sound, and the air crackled with the scent of ozone._ _

__A crash sounded, and the building vibrated. Cecil wrinkled his nose, and then rolled his chair over to the window, where he peeked between two slats of the blinds._ _

__“Well, I never,” he told his little gelatinous friend, who was sliding along the blinds. He rolled back to his station and clicked on the microphone. “A quick update on the Blood Space Wars. It appears that the alien ship has been downed by my sweetie's death ray. We are all grateful to technology! Unfortunately, the ship appears to have crashed into the middle of the Ralphs, so if you were looking for popsicles to beat the humid weather, you may be out of luck. Thus we must weather our disappointments along with our triumphs! For example, it could be your boyfriend is a handsome scientist who has invented his own death ray, but his hair is an alarming shade of lavender.”_ _

__“Cecil.”_ _

__Cecil turned around. He hadn't heard the soft beat of wings, but Josie had arrived, along with an Erika. Cecil doffed his headphones. “Oh, hello.”_ _

__Josie clucked her tongue. “Carlos said you'd be late.” And then, Cecil felt himself pulled away._ _

__

__A small but festive crowd gathered just outside Night Vale's city jail. Violet had poked his head out of the little window in the cell grateful citizens had provided for him, and had his neck crimped down so he could converse with Mayor Cardinal. She had come out for the occasion dressed in her official robes. Pamela Winchell, the Director of Emergency Press Conferences, held out a small, velvet-lined box. The box contained a medal, forged of a lustrous purple manganese with a tasteful purple felt ribbon, which Mayor Cardinal draped over Violet's head. Violet raised his head proudly. The medal shone in the sunlight._ _

__“Cecil!” came Carlos's unmistakably empirical voice. Cecil gazed at his boyfriend, trying to hide his disappointment. His hair was still a rather pungent shade of periwinkle, as were his eyelashes, eyebrows, his lab coat, and...._ _

__“Carlos,” said Cecil, keeping his voice steady. “Carlos, your eyes?”_ _

__The scientist batted his long, heliotrope-hued lashes, revealing that his eyes had gone from the color of the Aegean sea to the roughly color of grape drink. “Oh, yes,” said Carlos. “Side effect.”_ _

__“...Of purple science,” Cecil concluded sadly._ _

__Carlos reached out and bopped the gelatinous blob perched on Cecil's shoulder with the tip of his finger. “Yes. And unfortunately, I have nothing to show for it! Although we did manage to win the Blood Space War thanks to my death ray. Well, that's science for you. Sometimes you win....”_ _

__“And sometimes your hair goes purple,” moped Cecil._ _

__“Is anything wrong my dear?” inquired Carlos, his handsome brow now creased in concern. “They said they'll get the Popsicles back at Ralphs when the next truck comes in!”_ _

__Cecil shook his head, hiding his disappointment. “Of course not. And, anyway, we're here in honor of Violet.”_ _

__“Yes, let's go talk to Hiram McDaniels's purple head!” Carlos enthused, taking Cecil by the arm and striding over. “I so wish I had a present for him. He is the one who owned my boyfriend for a while, and he took very good care of you, I think.”_ _

__Cecil blushed and waved at Violet, who was just saying thank you for Erika's purple doily. The dragon cocked his purple head at Cecil and Carlos, squinting amethyst-colored eyes at the duo._ _

__“Violet,” said Carlos, “I wish to apologize-” But Carlos was interrupted by Violet's gasp. Violet was quite large, so his gasp was terribly loud compared to Carlos's voice._ _

__“Carlos!” said Violet, suddenly staring cross-eyed at the ground._ _

__Cecil and Carlos exchanged a confused glance. “Yes?” asked Carlos._ _

__Violet ducked his head, and came up with Cecil's little gelatinous friend on the tip of his nose. It waved its tiny head tentacles and crawled up and down Violet's snout, wiggling and exploring._ _

__“Carlos. Cecil!” said Violet. “You brought me a- a _friend?_ ”_ _

__The little blobbity thing oozed up Violet's head and rested on his forehead, excitedly wiggling its head tentacles. “Well,” said Cecil._ _

__“This is all I've wanted!” said Violet. “Oh, I didn't want to complain, because the town has been so nice, but I've been so lonely! None of the other heads will speak to me. I just wanted to chat, to talk about my day. To share my little ups and downs. They thought about giving me a pet, but I'm allergic to feral dogs. But here is someone without fur! I think I'll call her, Sureena!”_ _

__Carlos still looked quite confused, but Cecil, as a radio professional, was nearly unflappable. He leaned forward and asked of the gelatinous creature, “Sureena! Why, that's a lovely name. Do you like that?”_ _

__The little creature undulated, which could have been interpreted as yes. At least, that is how everyone present chose to interpret it._ _

__They were going to chat some more, but just then, Steve Carlsberg pushed his way in with some probably substandard scones. They had all been dyed purple with food coloring. Cecil chose not to bring up his brother-in-law's lack of baking skills, so as not to ruin the moment._ _

__“Carlos, my dear,” he said, slipping his hand into the scientist's. What did he care if Carlos had purple hair, or green? He was still his brilliant Carlos. He created death rays and blobbity things!_ _

__Cecil went up on tiptoe, and gave his boyfriend a quick kiss._ _

__“Cecil?” asked Carlos._ _

__“I suppose we should all be grateful for purple science,” said Cecil._ _

__“Cecil?”_ _

__“Oh, and the death ray, probably.”_ _

__“Cecil.”_ _

__“Though we should probably monitor our electricity bill for the month!”_ _

__“Cecil?”_ _

__“Life is more than Popsicles, Carlos!”_ _

__“Cecil!”_ _

__“Yes?”_ _

__“Cecil,” said Carlos once again, now holding up his cell phone. “My dear. Your lips.”_ _

__Cecil frowned, but regarded his image in Carlos's cell phone display. His lips, where he had just kissed Carlos, had bloomed into a radiant shade of purple._ _

__Cecil put a fingertip to his mouth. Carlos grabbed Cecil's pale hand and kissed it. Cecil held up his hand and stared wide-eyed in wonder: the back of his hand now bore a purple stain shaped precisely like Carlos's perfect lips._ _

__Cecil glared at his hand._ _

__And then he grinned._ _

__And then he grinned even wider._ _

__Cecil grabbed his boyfriend's arm. “Carlos, we need to go!” he urged._ _

__“But why, Cecil? The party has barely begun.”_ _

__Cecil smiled through eggplant-hued lips. “Science!”_ _

__

__“Cecil,” said Intern Thallium, who had phased out of the walls this morning._ _

__“Hello, Intern Thallium!” said Cecil, who was whistling. He grabbed Intern Thallium's memo regarding the Blood Space Wars. Ralphs had restocked on Popsicles! The town was saved._ _

__“Um,” said Intern Thallium._ _

__“Yes?” Cecil looked up._ _

__“I don't mean to pry,” shivered Intern Thallium, who looked like he might shrink back into the drywall at any moment. “But were you always … _that_ purple?” Cecil's normally pale skin had all turned a rather lurid shade of magenta._ _

__Cecil winked. “Side effects,” he said. And then he strode off towards his broadcasting booth._ _


End file.
